


His Breath Is Warm But

by PaulaMcG



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Cold Weather, Firewhiskey (Harry Potter), Ice Play, Knockturn Alley, M/M, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22636723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaulaMcG/pseuds/PaulaMcG
Summary: Remus hopes for a hotter end to this cool story.
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Severus Snape, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 9





	His Breath Is Warm But

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written on a drunken evening in January 2020 for Firewhiskey Fic at Dreamwidth. I used all the prompts: Severus Snape, Knockturn Alley, Frostbite, Iceplay, Transfiguration. This is set in the GoF winter. And might possibly, surprisingly, not contradict anything else I’ve written. I’ve now corrected only the tipsy typos and punctuation errors. The spirit of following any crazy idea remains. Remus and his friends, foes and lovers will never help me make any money.

There’s no light, and the door’s charmed closed for the night. But I mustn’t despair. I’m not too late; nothing’s too late on Knockturn Alley. There’s always some shop open, and I’ll get to spend the night in a warm place. Now just a moment here in the shelter from the wind before I go down the alley. I lean against the door and fold my arms, bury my bare hands in my armpits and close my eyes.

There’s a hot breath on my face. Whiskey? Yes, Firewhiskey.

Just when I open my eyes and recognise the nose, he says, “What are you doing here?”

My lips are numb, but I manage, “I live here.”

Thanks to you not at Hogwarts. But I don’t say that, just, “But you’re supposed to be at Hogwarts, harassing James’s son and his friends.” But I don’t think I’m really saying that either because I’m too cold.

And that’s why he’s staring at me.

Perhaps I’m paranoid, and I think this is why he outed me as a werewolf. He’s planned all this. He’s been spying on me, of course. He’s a spy, we know that. And now he comes on the coldest night because this is how he wants me.

I’m freezing, my feet are numb, and I don’t find this erotic at all. But I’ve seen him wanking in snow, standing barefoot in snow, leaning against a frozen tree trunk, in our seventh year and last year. Severus, I wanted to say last year. I wanted him; he reminded me of Sirius. I remember once I thought he was Sirius… 

When he was coming in the tunnel from the Willow and I was half transformed and saw just a face framed by black hair. Of course he remembers, but he hates Sirius, thinks that Sirius sent him to be killed by the wolf. He loves me – torturing me. Even the Wolfsbane Potion was a torture, made me conscious all through the change. But now these thoughts are getting too complicated. The point is I know he is aroused by cold exposure. The masochist bastard is a sadist too.

“Here? In this doorway?” he asks finally.

“Almost,” I say. The room I’ve rented is not much better and not far from here, but I don’t want him there. I want him in a warm place, and I hope there’s a happy end for this story.

He’s leaning close, and his breath is warm, but now he turns and reaches to grab an icicle from the low eaves. He’s pointing it at me like a wand.

“Now tell me where the murderer is?”

How would I know? If only I knew where my Pads has trotted! Somewhere warm. I just shake my head. “Get me a hot drink and I’ll tell you.”

His lip curls. Isn’t that his signature expression? At least he’s not rubbing the icicle against my skin. He's holding it in one fist and stroking it with the other. Then he slips an ice-cold hand inside of my robes onto my shoulder. Onto the bite scar.

He knows it’s there; he saw it the first time we met right here outside this bookshop. It was Christmas in our fourth year, and I’d come to look for forbidden books about transfiguration for my friends, who wanted to become Animagi for me. Poor Severus was trying to make some money. His dad was a drunk, and they didn’t give him proper clothes. He had no cloak, and I offered him mine. No, we didn’t huddle for warmth. I tried to hug him, and when he pushed me away, his frostbitten fingers slipped onto my shoulder under my robes.

“Come on,” he says now. He swirls his cloak around me. “Come on! There’s an inn next door that’s famous for its Firewhiskey and rooms with bath and shower. We’ll see what you’ll tell me to get a hot bath and not a cold shower.”


End file.
